I adored Monty. Above all else, I adored that he adored my uncle. I loved that he’d convinced one very skeptical Andrew Darkling that love was real and if he’d just take a chance, he could spend the rest of his life reaping the benefits of passion, laughter and loyalty, but he had to allow Uncle Monty the chance to show him.
And he did take a chance, probably a bigger risk than he’d ever let on, and if the person who’d done this to my uncle got away with it, and took away what was most important to Darling, I’d hunt him for the rest of his miserable life.
And if I found him, I’d show him a thousand tortures with my magic, Atticus and the rules for mortals be hanged. I couldn’t meddle with the cycle of life. I knew better than to use my magic to heal Uncle Monty, and so did Uncle Darling, but if he died because he was caught up in a robbery gone wrong and my uncle lost the one thing he cared about the most in this world?
Things would become very ugly.
As my anger and sorrow rose, Hobbs put his hand on my shoulder and gently turned me around, pulling me to his broad chest, and I let him.
I cried ugly, sloppy tears, jamming my fist to my mouth to keep from screaming out my anguish and frustration, and Hobbs didn’t try to stop me.
He smoothed circles over my back as I wet his shirt with my muffled sobs and enjoyed the comfort of his broad chest and warm embrace.
I needed air. Lifting my head, I swiped my tears and looked up at Hobbs. “I need a minute. Can you wait here in case he’s done before I get back?”
He cupped my chin and wiped my cheek with his thumb. “You bet. Text if you need me and I’ll come running.”
Turning, I hightailed it to the elevator and pressed the button, jumping in the second it arrived. I had to catch my breath and keep it together for Uncle Darling.
I jetted out into the lobby and made a break for the doors leading outside, letting the bitter cold hit my face and evaporate the tears on my cheeks.
Gulping the frosty air, I zipped up my jacket and tightened my scarf around my neck, looking out at the parking lot lights and gathering my senses. The ocean was a bit more distant from here, but I could still hear the crash of the occasional wave and smell the tangy salt, and I let it do what it did best—soothe me.
The parking lot was mostly deserted at this hour, giving me the added bonus of privacy.
“Miss Valentine,” a voice from out of nowhere called.
I turned to find a neatly dressed man in a tweed coat, with cheerful eyes and a lean build, approaching me.
Wiping at my eyes, I acknowledged him. “That’s me. What can I do for you?”
He held out a business card, his smile easy and warm. “My name is Abraham Weller, from Weller and Walgreen.”
An attorney. Talk about gossip traveling fast in a small town. Instantly, my guard was up. “And?”
I made my aggravation clear in my tone, but that didn’t deter him. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but I understand your uncle was involved in a murder this evening at Feeney’s Fuel and Gruel?”
Perfect. Just what I needed. An ambulance chaser. Staring him directly in the eye, I glared. “I’m not at liberty to discuss anything. In other words, you’re barking up the wrong tree, Mr. Weller. Go chase a different ambulance.”
I’m not sure what made him back off, whether it was my death glare or my direct words, but back off he did. “My apologies, but I hope you’ll call on me if—”
“Goodnight, Mr. Weller,” I said firmly, rather than punching him square in the nose with my clenched fist.
Thankfully, he took the hint and scurried off into the dark parking lot.
Unclenching my jaw, I forced back more tears of frustration and anger at how bold some folks were. My uncle was lying in a bed, his brain taken apart like a tinker toy and only just put back together again, and lugs like Weller were looking to score a lawsuit against Feeney’s.
And make no mistake, that’s what this was about. I’d almost bet he was interested in suing Feeney’s for safety reasons or some such nonsense. Not only did Uncle Monty have more integrity than to hold Mr. Feeney responsible for an accident, so did my Uncle Darling.
Oh, I wanted to sock him in the nose!
As the doors of the lobby swished opened, in my haze of anger, I only vaguely saw two people come out and heard their whispers as they passed by. I was still pretty caught up in my own worries and fears when someone tapped me on the shoulder.
Turning, I was faced with Gable Norton’s widow, Anna, a pretty blonde with bloodshot, swollen eyes, mussed clothes, and the appearance of the weight of the world on her shoulders.
She was with a woman who looked just like her but older, or maybe it was the other way around.
Instantly, I wanted to give her my condolences and offer my help, but she spoke before I had the chance. “You’re Halliday Valentine, right?”
“I am, and you’re Anna, right?”
“Ye…yes. And this is my mother, Regina,” she said, pointing to the woman next to her.
Scanning her body and face, rigid with anguish, and wondering why she was at the hospital, I asked, “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, her tangled hair sticking to her wet cheeks. “They made me come here to be sure I was okay. That’s all. I’m fine. Fine.”
I’d heard those words before. I’m fine, in Anna’s case, meant she was barely holding it together. I hated that for her…for her newly born daughter…for Gable.
Regina shook her head firmly, pulling her red wool trench coat tighter around her chin. “She’s not fine, Miss Valentine. She’s a wreck. They had to give her a sedative to calm her down, she was so hysterical. That’s why she’s here.”
“Mom, please!” Anna hissed, stomping her foot. “Be quiet and let me talk!”
I didn’t want things to escalate, so I asked in as soothing a tone as possible, “What can I do for you, Anna? How can I help?”
“I…” She gasped, her shoulders jerking from the effort as she pulled her puffy jacket back up over her shoulders. “I need…I need to talk to you. Please.”
Tears began to fill her red-rimmed eyes again, and that was when I took her hand. “How about we do it inside, okay? It’s too cold for you to be out here.” Tugging her hand, I led her back into the lobby and brought her to the row of dark brown chairs next to a table of magazines. “Tell me what I can do for you, Anna?”
“Gable,” she hacked out, her chest heaving. “I need to ask you about Gable.”
That took me a bit by surprise as I encouraged her to sit and looked into her tortured blue eyes. “Me? I’m not sure I understand.”
She grabbed my hand and held it tight, as though she were clinging for her life. “You’re the niece of the other man who was hurt at Feeney’s, right?”
“I am,” I offered quietly.
“Anna,” her mother said with a softer tone, putting her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and squeezing. “Maybe now’s not the time, honey. She’s in distress, too.”
But she pushed her mother away and looked to me with broken eyes. “No, Mom, I have to know. I need to know what happened!” she cried, her hysteria clearly rising.
“What do you need to know?” I used great caution when I asked.